I still miss you – it's barely a whisper, laced with liquor and tinted pink with embarassment
(I still miss you, even though it's been, what, a century?-it feels like it rained just yesterday)
it's barely audible but lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating and Alfred feels old pangs of pain; You're drunk, he says, but words don't easily slide off his dried mouth, and Arthur weakly protests, and pours himself another drink
(he wants to kiss him, he realizes, but that's nothing new)
He should stop him but he is enchanted by Arthur's flushed cheeks and look in his half-closed eyes and his words still hang in the air. In that air that smells strongly of alcohol. Of course he would say something like that only when he's this wasted.
I still miss you.
He manages to catch Arthur before collision with the floor and with tired sigh, he practically drags him to bed
(Arthur's body is warm and pressed against his, and he almost can't resist the temptation)
and he lays him down and tries to leave
(he can't just walk away when his big brother looks this helpless)
Arthur doesn't notice when Alfred slides next to him and embraces him.
(his big brother is so small in his arms - he wonders idly if he'd have to put much effort into breaking him – not that he'd want to – it's just curiosity)
He kisses him. And then again. And again, even if he reeks strongly of liquor and the taste is not all that pleasant.
I still miss you.
He still loves him.